


There's a Rat Out There for Everyone

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Rats, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: I wrote this as a response to a random (and probably incorrect) statistic about rats in NYC.  What I wrote proceeded to accumulate over 36.5k notes and counting.  So I'm posting it here finally after over two years because I want it to be easier to find.  Enjoy!





	There's a Rat Out There for Everyone

* * *

* * *

 

 

As I approached the near-empty parking lot that practically hung out over the Hudson, I took my 78th glance at the pamphlet that had arrived on my doorstep yesterday (my 16th birthday).  The pamphlet said:

 

**Congratulations on the 16th anniversary of your birth.**   
**Please report to:**

  
**Rodent Assignment Terminus**   
**#1 13th Avenue**   
**Manhattan, NY**

 

Honest to God, I had no idea there even _was_ a 13th Avenue on Manhattan but here I was.  After two minutes of looking around, I spotted the ramshackle little kiosk in the corner of a block of asphalt and pavement hanging out over the Hudson.  It was surrounded by mini traffic cones forming an impromptu runway that led right to the small window carved in the side of the slanted hut.  I knocked on the window sill and waited.

The tiny window slid open and the wizened face of an old lady appeared.  By my estimate she was approximately 170 years old.

“Name?”  She croaked, taking a drag off her cigarette with shriveled lips.  

“Uh… Addison.  Addison Sharpe.”  I held up the pamphlet with my eyebrows up, letting her know I also did not know why I was here.  

The window slammed shut and I heard the bustle and groaning of the old lady getting up out of her seat.  

To my surprise, she appeared outside the kiosk with a metal wire hanger-looking device with a hook hammered into the end.  She shuffled three feet to a tiny, manhole cover and slipped the hook through one of its holes.  I rushed forward to offer to do it myself but to my utter shock, she lifted the manhole up and to the side with no more effort than it took her to light her second cigarette.  She held the cigarette with one hand and cupped her mouth with the other.  “Addison Sharpe!”

A low, unholy sound emerged from the depths of the hole in the ground.  It sounded like 8 million chairs squeaking across a poorly-waxed floor.  It sounded like 32 million claws clicking and clacking their way across a cement carport.  It sounded like the asthmatic breathing of a mass of nightmares.  It got closer… and closer to the top of the hole.  My stomach clenched and I could feel adrenaline pump into my bloodstream.  

A single rat, about the size of a small chihuahua, emerged from the hole.

“Look, he got dressed up for you,” the old lady wheezed affectionately, and casually moved the manhole cover back into place.

The rat in question had a pink bow on its head, stuck there with what I can only assume (and hope) was gum.  He regarded me, whiskers twitching, beady eyes staring. 

“I like your bow,” I offered.

The rat hobbled towards me, latching onto my pant leg with sharp little claws and climbing until he reached my hoodie pocket, where he settled with a decisive sigh.  

I turned to thank the old lady, but she slammed the door of the kiosk in my face.

 

 


End file.
